


Fuel to Fire

by imthealphanow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Jock Derek, M/M, Popular Derek, Self-Harm, Speech Disorders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imthealphanow/pseuds/imthealphanow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes, Stiles wishes that he could be like the stars he sees on sleepless nights. They may all be different kinds, shapes, sizes, but when he looks at them from his bedroom, they all shine as brightly and beautifully as each other. He wishes he could shine as brightly as those around him, but he knows it is a silly thing to think."</p><p>Stiles is a lonely high school nobody about to start his sophomore year. Is this the year he can finally be himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Stiles tells himself as he brushes his teeth in front of the mirror that this year will be his year. He fucked up freshman year, but that’s okay because he still has Scott. This year, however, is the year that he will become popular. He will no longer be the weird kid, he can do this.

Spitting out the toothpaste, he grabs his bag and makes his way downstairs, which is quiet and empty. His dad is asleep upstairs, having got in about an hour ago from his night shift. There’s a note next to Stiles’ car keys from him, wishing him good luck. Stiles quietly unlocks the door and shuts it behind him.

The drive to school has Stiles looking at himself in the rearview mirror, silently telling himself that this year is the year. He still looks the same as last year, but this year will be different.

The parking lot is awash with students, and Stiles has to park at the very back because it’s the only way he’ll find a space.

As he’s walking to the school, a silver porche pulls into the space right outside the doors, like it’s his own personal car space.

Stiles fights the urge to duck his head down and remain as unobtrusive as possible. This year is his year, right? This is the year his life changes for the better! He can do this.

“Oh hey, look what we have here, the train wreck. I thought we had finally got rid of you Stilinski.”

Stiles resolutely tries to ignore Jackson’s stupid face and starts to climb up the steps into the school. Jackson however jogs past him and slides in front of him, putting a hand out to stop him from moving.

“Hey, why are you ignoring me? You think you would have learnt after the last time you did that, huh?”

Stiles can’t help it, he ducks his head down to avoid Jackson’s gaze. God he hates him.

“Just because you’re not a freshman anymore doesn’t mean you get a free card this year. You’re nothing but an amusement to me, you know that? A freak. Isn’t he guys?”

A group of people have formed around them, always happy to see the stupid kid who can’t talk get beaten down. A few of them laugh but most of them just cheer in response.

Stiles just keeps his head down and wishes he had the confidence to fight back.

“I asked you a question, idiot. Don’t tell me your stupidity has increased so much that you can’t even tell what a question is. Or has a cat got your tongue?”

His cheeks are so heated, and Stiles wishes that Jackson doesn’t get to him as much as he does. It doesn’t even matter, Jackson is one out of the entire school who likes to remind Stiles of how different he is. He wishes that he had more friends than just Scott.

“Well?”

“I kn-kn-kn-know that J-J-Jackson.” Stiles curses himself in his head. Why couldn’t he just be able to speak normally?

“Ahh, there we go,” Jackson smirks, and the people who have crowded around the two of them laugh. “I’d say you’ve finally remembered how to talk, but if I said that then I’d be lying, huh? You couldn’t talk like a normal person even if your life depended on it.”

That cues another round of laughs from the people around them. Stiles, for a very long moment, wishes that he were dead, or very far away from any human being so that he can’t ever feel as humiliated as he does right now.

“Well,” Jackson says, looking at Stiles with an air of derision. “You’ve wasted my time long enough. Have a n-n-nice day st-st-Stiles.” Jackson walks off, high fiving a friend of his and laughing, Stiles clutches at his bag straps and steps forward again, but another one of Jackson’s friends sticks his leg out as he walks past, tripping Stiles and sending him sprawling to the floor. Everyone around him starts laughing harder as they walk off and Stiles has to try his utmost not to cry.

Stiles was kidding himself when he looked into the mirror this morning, this year is going to be just as horrible as every year before it. He doesn’t know why he even tried.

 

***

 

Stiles spends the next three lessons alone, staying as quiet and hunched as possible. A group of guys behind him keep blowing spit balls at him, and a couple of them go down the back of his hoodie. It’s disgusting. The teacher doesn’t notice.

Stiles goes to the dining hall for lunch, usually he would take his own lunch and eat outside but today he decides to get it from the cafeteria. As he’s walking to an empty table, some douchebag from Jackson’s table slaps his tray up, so it goes all over himself and on the floor. Stiles stands there covered in red meatball sauce, his hands still numbly holding onto his tray, listening the laughter in the hall. Everyone stopped to see what the noise was, and now everyone, everyone who he can see is pointing at him and laughing. Jackson is practically wetting himself with laughter.

What the guy did was pathetic, immature and ridiculous, Stiles tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t help the burn of shame and the urge to cry pathetically get any less severe.

Stiles steps over the mass of spaghetti on the floor, and puts his tray on the side, before walking as dignified as he can out of the hall. Everyone who passes him gawks at his appearance, and starts sniggering. He finally makes it to a bathroom which is apparently blessedly empty, and takes off his backpack, ripping paper towels from the dispenser, wetting them and trying to rub off the bright red stain from his white t-shirt. He has lumps of tomato in his hair, stains on his face, and he rubs harder trying to erase everything that happened.

When it becomes clear that the stain is not gonna move without some heavy duty cleaner and possibly a washing machine, Stiles yells “fuck!” and slumps to the floor underneath the hand dryer crying silently. He tries to stop crying, rubbing the tears away as they leave his eyes, but before long he just gives up and buries his face in his knees.

After about a minute, a stall Stiles hadn’t noticed was closed creaks open. Stiles curses his luck and wipes at his eyes, trying to make it seem like he hasn’t just been sobbing like a baby.

To make it worse, it’s fucking Derek Hale, possibly the most popular person in the school, and by Stiles’ reckoning, the hottest. He’s a senior this year, and captain of the basketball team for the third year in a row. Rumour has it that he’s got a 4.0 GPA and has already been offered a place at Stanford next year for Law. God, he’s basically perfect. Even if he is friends with douchebag Jackson, but Stiles guesses nobody is completely perfect. Plus, he doesn’t really spend that much time with Jackson at all really, he has his own little clique who he stays with.

And Stiles is sitting on the floor in front of him wearing a damp t-shirt stained red, with puffy eyes and probably looks like a total mess. Derek stops in the middle of the bathroom, face blank but his forehead is slightly creased.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Stiles is so shocked at such a stupid question that he just barks out a laugh.

Derek looks taken aback, but also faintly embarrassed, like he, _he,_ made a fool of himself.

“What happened?” He asks instead. Stiles sighs, it would be rude not to answer.

“I, well I t-t-tripped. I-in the c-c-c-cafet-teria.” He says quietly.

Derek doesn’t look particularly convinced, but he also doesn’t look like he’s gonna laugh at Stiles because of his stutter which is always a plus for Stiles.

“I have a spare shirt in my gym locker. I could get it for you?”

Wait a second. Derek wants to be nice to him? Wow.

“R-r-really? Y-you w-w-would do th-that for m-me?”

“Sure, your t-shirt is kinda stained. Just stay here, I’ll go grab it for you. I’ll only be a minute, promise.”

Stiles just nods helplessly and Derek strides off, ass looking particularly great from where Stiles is sitting on the floor, leaving Stiles alone in the bathroom. Stiles can’t believe it, Derek was actually _nice_ to him. Like, super nice. Going out of his way kind of nice. Wow.

Derek is back less than five minutes later. In his hand he’s holding a plain black t-shirt. He hands it over to Stiles who stumbles over a thank you, and clutches the t-shirt in his hand.

Derek stands there and Stiles winces internally. He quickly shucks off the stained t-shirt, hoping to god Derek doesn’t laugh at his skinny, pale, freckled body, and quickly puts on the black one. It hangs off him, clearly meant for someone with far more muscle mass than he has, but it’s clean and that’s all he can ask for. It feels super soft and smells amazing, like Derek has worn it over and over for a long time.

“Thank-k you.” He says again, and Derek stops rummaging in his bag to look at Stiles.

“No problem,” He replies. “What’s your name by the way?”

“St-Stiles.”

“Stiles.” Derek draws his name out slowly, kind of like he’s savouring it. “Awesome. Give me back my shirt when you can yeah? I’m not fussy when.”

By the time Stiles has stuttered a reply, Derek is gone.

 

***

 

It started when Stiles was little. When his mom got ill he would spend all his spare time talking to her, and he would always try to talk as fast as possible so he could say everything he wanted to before she fell asleep again. He was loud and brash and energetic and he never stopped moving, and he was eventually diagnosed with ADD. Meanwhile, his mom got worse and worse, and Stiles still remembers to this day the crushing feeling of trying to make everything better, trying to help her, but failing miserably. Then, when she died, he would talk just to fill the complete silence in the house. When his mother died he was practically catatonic, and he had nightmares every single time he went to sleep that his dad would also die and he would be left alone. His ADD, coupled with a shit ton of anxiety, produced a stutter.

And Stiles couldn’t get rid of it. He had tried so hard, as well, started talking slower again. He even went to speech therapy for a while which helped a little but in the end he had to stop because the bills were too much for his dad, especially on top of the hospital bills he still had for his mom.

Then people at school started noticing it more and more, and started making fun of him for it, and it was like the more he teased him the worse it got, until Stiles basically stopped talking to 99% of the school’s population. The only times he really talks are when people ask him questions. He always has to talk in chemistry, because Harris figured out early on that Stiles hated talking aloud, and would vindictively use that against him. Stiles hated Harris, every lesson with him made Stiles feel even worse about himself.

So, Stiles was stuck with this god awful stutter, a school that continuously made fun of him for it, and no way of it ever stopping. It was like a continuous cycle of bullying.

 

***

 

Meeting the kid in the bathroom made Derek think. The guy had obviously been crying, even if Derek hadn’t heard the sobs, but he still tried to put on a brave face. Derek thinks he’s seen Stiles around the school before, and he recognised him more when he started talking.

When Derek gets to the lunch hall he grabs a sandwich from the counter and makes his way over to where Isaac, Boyd and Erica are sitting. As he passes Jackson’s table he notices the smear of spaghetti on the floor. That can’t be a coincidence considering Stiles’ shirt was also covered in spaghetti sauce.

“Hey dude, what’s up?” he says to Callum, one of the guys on the basketball team with him. “What happened to the floor man?”

Callum grins. “Oh dude, you should have seen it. You know that skinny sophomore, the one who can’t talk right? He was walking past our table and then Mark just flipped his tray up, and man it went everywhere. You should have seen his face, it was so funny. He’s such a little freak, it’s so easy to make fun of him.” The guys sitting round the table laugh in response, agreeing with Callum.

Derek did see his face, after Stiles had been crying. It wasn’t that funny at all really.

“Yeah. You remember the meet on Wednesday?”

Callum replies in the affirmative, and Derek walks off to find his real friends.

The whole thing with Stiles makes him feel uncomfortable. How can being so rude to someone be funny? Derek aims to get to know Stiles better, or at least find out more about him. 

 

***

 

The rest of the school day goes by fairly quietly, and Stiles thanks the lord that he can just slouch low in his seat and not make eye contact with anyone. Luckily he doesn’t have Harris today, and most of the teachers now know not to pick on Stiles, because he always fumbles and fucks up, even if he does know the answer.

When the last bell rings he packs his things away and gets into his car, speedily making an exit before someone like Jackson can find him or something.

Instead of going straight home, Stiles makes his way to the hospital.

He nods at the nurse on the front desk, and makes his way up the two flights of stairs, knocking on the door before allowing himself in.

As predicted, Scott is lounging on his back, playing on his shitty old laptop. Scott constantly whines that he needs to get a new one so that he can play more games on it, but on one nurse’s salary, they have no chance of being able to afford a brand new laptop any time soon.

 Two days before school started, Scott had another severe asthma attack, so much so that he had to have a breathing tube fitted. This is the sixth time it’s happened since Stiles and Scott have been best friends. He’ll probably stay in hospital for another day or so, and then spend another couple of days at home.

“Dude!” Scott says, shutting the lid of his laptop and sitting up higher. “How was school? Did you wow the school?”

Stiles huffs a sigh and slumps in the chair next to Scott’s bed. “If by wowing the sch-school you mean g-g-getting pasta chucked all over y-your shirt and-d having the ent-t-tire cafeteria l-laughing at you then sure, I w-w-wowed the school.” Stiles’s stutter isn’t so bad when he’s around Scott or his dad, mainly because he’s totally comfortable with them, and they never make fun of him.

Scott winces in sympathy. He had been so confident that Stiles would be happier this year and it just wasn’t to be apparently.

“Hey, it’s only the first day right? You have time!” Stiles just sighs and nods despondently. He’s not getting his hopes up anymore.

“Did anything else happen? I mean it’s the first day and all. Who got really hot over the summer?”

Stiles laughs. “Well there’s th-this new g-g-irl called A-Allison. She’s p-p-retty.”

Scott perks up at this. “What does she look like?”

“Tall, t-t-thin, with brown hair and eyes. She h-h-as dimples. I t-think she t-transferred here bec-cause she’s K-Kate Argent’s c-cousin.”

Scott groans and throws himself back into his pillow. “Ugh, she sounds amazing. Even if she is related to the bitch from hell. Kate is so hot though. I’ll have to look out for her when I go back. Anything else?”

Stiles blushes and looks down.

“Stiles? What happened? Come on, you can’t look like that and then not tell me anything!”

“W-w-well. I, um. When I w-was t-trying to get t-t-the st-st-stain off my shirt, D-Derek Hale was in t-t-the bathroom w-w-with me and he w-w-as super n-nice and gave me his s-shirt.” Stiles motions to it, and watches as Scott’s eyes go wide as he realises that yeah, that isn’t Stiles’ shirt at all. “Derek Hale knows my name.” Stiles finishes reverently.

Scott looks so excited. “Oh my god, Stiles this is awesome! I mean, you’ve had a crush on him for, like, ever right? You guys can finally get to know each other!”

Stiles grins but then his face falls.

“B-b-but we c-c-couldn’t be t-t-t-together because he’s st-st-still with K-Kate, remember? I mean, he’s s-s-straight!”

Scott also looks dejected. “Well, maybe you two could become really good friends and then he’ll realise what a bitch Kate is and fall for you instead? I mean, it’s always a possibility!”

Stiles just nods and then changes the conversation. They mess around on Scott’s laptop for a bit, before Stiles has to go home and make dinner for himself and his dad, before his dad has to leave for his next shift. When he changes into his pyjamas, he folds Derek’s shirt up carefully and reminds himself to put on a wash tomorrow so that he can give it back to Derek.

As Stiles lies in his bed that night, he thinks about what life would be like if Derek actually liked him. All of Derek’s friends would be his friends, people wouldn’t make fun out of the guy going out with Derek freaking Hale. Plus the kissing and the handholding and the… ugh.

Stiles shouldn’t get his hopes up like this. He rolls over so he’s on his side, and shuts his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE END NOTES FOR POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS; TAGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED BUT JUST TO LET YOU KNOW ETC.

 

 

The next day passes uncomfortably for Stiles. Scott is still in the hospital, Stiles is still alone and Jackson is still an ass. However, Stiles at lunch notices Derek Hale _staring_ at him from across the cafeteria, not even looking away when Stiles meets his gaze. It’s a little creepy, because Derek looks so goddamn _focused_ , but at the same time it’s quite nice. It almost feels like someone cares about him, outside of Scott and his father.

Everything, however, goes to shit in chemistry. It’s bad enough that Stiles shares the class with Jackson, but it’s made even worse with his hellspawn of a teacher, Mr Harris.

He’s sitting at the back of the class, like usual, with his shoulders hunched up to make him look as invisible as possible. He’s so focused on not being noticed, he doesn’t even know what Mr Harris is talking about, an unexciting experiment of some sort probably.

That is, until he calls on Stiles.

“Mr Stilinski,” Mr Harris says, with the irritation of someone who has already called on him at least once.

Stiles jumps and puts his pen down from where he had been avidly doodling on his notepad instead of actually writing notes, and tries to look innocent.

“Why don’t you come up here and teach the class what we’re currently learning? Since you appear to have such a great understanding of the topic because you don’t feel the need to write notes, you can teach the class.”

Stiles gets up slowly, wincing as every face swivels and fixes their gaze upon him. He tries to remember what the lesson is about, and the lack of notes on the blackboard doesn’t help him one bit.

He thinks the class is doing a titration, so he goes with it, picking up the chalk and swallowing nervously.

“U-um, w-w-well, y-you take a-a-a f-flask a-a-and, u-u-m…” his heart is pounding, and his fingers are shaking, drifting chalk dust everywhere. He trails off when someone sniggers, and then someone else, until he’s left standing at the front of the class with everyone laughing at him. Mr Harris does not say anything at first, but the smirk on his face says it all. He is making fun of Stiles because he can, and because he feels exactly the same way about Stiles’ stutter as Stiles’ classmates do.

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t let Mr Stilinski teach the class- no one can understand him!” That sets off another round of laughter. The chalk lies limply in his hand. “Sit down Mr Stilinski, and oh, before I forget, a detention after school for not listening to the teacher during class.”

Stiles nods numbly, places the chalk back where it was, and walks back to his seat with his head down. Someone trips him up on the way and he stumbles, and the class laugh at him again.

He sits in his seat and curls his fingers into the palm of his hands. Pressing until even his ragged bitten nails leave moon shaped indents, white with the pressure. He counts back from ten in his head, then from twenty as he tries as hard as he can not to cry. He can’t cry, not when he’s surrounded by so many people who want him to fuck up even more. He manages it, even if the burn in his eyes and the heavy ache in his chest doesn’t fade.

Thankfully, Harris doesn’t pick on Stiles for the rest of the lesson, but since it’s his last lesson of the day he has to stay put whilst everyone else files out of the class, smirking at his sorry ass which stays put in the classroom.

As the last person leaves Harris takes a seat at his desk, and starts marking papers. Stiles sits there quietly for five minutes fidgeting before awkwardly raising his hand.

“What is it Stilinski?” Harris asks, without lifting eyes from the paper before him.

Stiles grimaces. “Ahh, well I, um, w-what am I-I s-supposed t-to be d-d-oing?”

Harris stares at him, sneers, and then puts his pen down.

“Well Stilinski, what I feel would be best for you is this. I want you to write the line ‘I need to pay more attention in class and articulate my words properly because I sound like an imbecile.’ And I want you to write it three hundred times.”

Stiles freezes in shock, then he swallows and nods silently and opens his notepad.

If the first five lines are shaky no one has to know.

When he’s finished he raises his hand again. His other hand is cramping from having to write the line out so quickly.

Harris looks up again and gets up, walking around tables to pick up Stiles’ notepad. When he’s satisfied he drops the pad back on the table.

“Now, I want you to say that line 50 times. I really want you to remember it so it stays in your head.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it again. There’s no point in arguing.

His face is bright red in embarrassment, and he knows, he knows that Harris is doing this to spite him, everyone knows just how much Stiles hates speaking.

Harris goes to walk back to his desk but turns back to Stiles.

“Oh, and every time you fail to pronounce a word properly, you have to say the line an extra five times.

Stiles has to try doubly as hard not to cry.

 

***

 

One hundred and forty lines later, and Stiles finally stumbles out of the school.

He practically runs to his car, even though its late enough that there’s nobody around.

Driving home as fast as he can, he has to count his breaths, to not scream or cry or do anything stupid whilst he is still technically in public where someone could see him. He parks as soon as possible, thanking the heavens above that his father is still on shift and so doesn’t have to see him like this. Stiles locks his car door and opens his front door with shaking hands, fleeing upstairs to the bathroom. His bag is discarded haphazardly outside his door.

He finds himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, breaths getting faster and faster until he’s sobbing, sliding down the wall until his arms are wrapped around his legs and his face is buried in his knees. His breath is hitching so hard he’s not sure if he’s actually getting any air into his lungs; his chest feels so tight it’s not easy to tell.

He stands up, and angrily yanks off all of his clothes, leaving them in a forlorn pile on the floor, before stepping on the shower and turning it on. His legs are pulled up in front of him, thighs by his face, and he sees the self-inflicted etches across them in his moments of pain and hatred. The newest one is a couple of months old, made just before school finished actually. Stiles hates to think that more white lines might join it, but he knows that sometimes he’s just too weak to resist.

He sits there, until the water runs cold, and wishes that the water running across his face was just from the shower alone.

 

***

 

Stiles eventually gets out of the shower when he’s shivering so much he can’t really do anything else, and his fingers are starting to feel like they aren’t part of him anymore they’re so cold.

When he gets into his room, he checks his phone. He dad has texted him telling him not to wait up, so Stiles dresses in pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt, pulling on thick socks and an oversized hoodie before making his way to the window.

When his mother was alive, and Stiles was young and eager, they would wait for clear nights and go out and look at the stars. The night sky was his mom’s great love, and he grew up learning about the stars and constellations. The night is not the clearest- light pollution makes a huge difference, but he can faintly see Cepheus, the king constellation, looking much like a house, as well as the winged horse constellation Pegasus. If it was a clearer night, he could possibly have seen Lacerta, the lizard constellation running between the two, but it is too faint.

When Stiles is having a bad time, or he wants to feel close to his mom, he looks at the stars. He’s spent far too many nights sitting half out his window, gazing at the different constellations above him. and although anyone can see them if they look up at night, they feel special to him, like they’re a special, beautiful secret between him and his mom.

Sometimes, Stiles wishes that he could be like the stars he sees on sleepless nights. They may all be different kinds, shapes, sizes, but when he looks at them from his bedroom, they all shine as brightly and beautifully as each other. He wishes he could shine as brightly as those around him, but he knows it is a silly thing to think. He is less than average, and his shine would be swallowed up by those bigger and brighter.

Stiles stays with one leg outside the window perched on the windowsill until he hears his dad’s car pull up, darting back into his bed. His dad always checks on him if he isn’t there to watch Stiles go to bed, and Stiles really doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

As always the door creeks open a crack and Stiles opens his eyes and gazes at the wall, facing away from the door. The door shuts quietly again thirty seconds later and Stiles can hear his dad walking down the hall to his own bedroom.

He absently realises he didn’t eat his dinner or get any work done, but suddenly the pull of his bed is far too much for him and he drifts off to sleep.

 

***

 

The rest of the week passes relatively quietly for Stiles, only the usual name calling and random person tripping him up every so often. On Thursday when Stiles visits Scott, he finds out that Scott is going home the next day and that he’ll be back at school next Wednesday or Thursday.

Friday night he’s sorting out his room and half-heartedly tidying it up when he comes across a black t-shirt that sure as hell isn’t his.

It’s Derek’s t-shirt, that he forgot to wash. Stiles looks around himself guiltily, even though there’s no one else in the house, and brings the fabric up to his nose.

It smells mostly of him now, but he can still catch a faint spicy scent that must be Derek’s cologne. It smells amazing. He sighs for a second, then starts collecting up all the dirty dark clothing he owns to wash. If he secretly sniffs the t-shirt again before putting it in the washing machine well, nobody knows but him.

 On Sunday, Stiles decides to not be a wimp. He collects Derek’s t-shirt and gets in his car, driving to the Hale house.

Everyone native to Beacon Hills knows the Hale house, its large, impressive and absolutely gorgeous, much like the people living inside of it.

He builds up the courage to get out his car, steeling himself, and marches up to the front door, knocking with purpose. He stands there with the t-shirt clutched in his hand until the door opens to a harried young woman, possibly in her mid-twenties.

“Hi,” she says brightly, pushing a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. “How can I help you?”

“Uh… h-hi. I’m l-looking f-f-or Derek? H-he’s in m-my class a-and I’m r-r-returning s-something of his.”

The woman winces. “I’m sorry, he’s out on a run right now. I’m Laura by the way.”

“Stiles, hi.”

Laura stops moving then and fixes a piercing look at his face. Stiles feels uncomfortably vulnerable before the look passes and Laura’s face brightens again.

“Do you wanna come inside and wait for him? He’ll only be another ten minutes or so.”

Stiles deliberates between staying at home where its silent and empty, or spending ten minutes making awkward conversation with someone he doesn’t know at all. He’s about to decline when the woman gets a faintly desperate look on her face.

“Please stay, I’m supposed to be making dinner, and Derek was supposed to look after Charlotte, and now I have to look after my kid and I really don’t have time for it. Just watch her for a little while whilst I cook?”

Stiles feels pretty bad for her so he nods and the woman sighs in relief.

“Thank you so much. I’m a terrible cook even when it has my full attention!”

They travel through a long hallway to an open plan kitchen, dining, living room or what Stiles would describe as an interior designer and chef’s wet dream.

In the middle of the sofas there’s a toddler dressed entirely in green, including green socks. They’re currently biting into a plastic block, and when the child sees Laura she squeals. When she sees Stiles, she squeals even louder, clapping her hands excitedly.

Laura slumps in relief. “Oh good, she likes you. Just sit with her and play with her for a bit. Don’t worry, I can see everything you’re doing, it’s just I don’t have to fully concentrate on her. She’s nearly two now and god she’s a terror.”

Stiles laughs nervously and places Derek’s t-shirt on the sofa, before sitting down on the floor next to the little girl who’s now sitting quietly, toy forgotten in her hands as she studies him.

Stiles has no idea what to do, the last time he was around a toddler was when he was about six, and then he definitely wasn’t looking after the kid.

“Hey Charlotte,” he says gently, “I’m Stiles.”

The girl’s face brightens and she starts banging the plastic block on the floor again, before getting up and toddling over to Stiles on her little legs.

“’Tiles, ‘ello ‘Tiles!” she says, now hitting Stiles on the arm with the plastic toy. She has a wide smile on her face. She hands Stiles her block and then tugs at his sleeve, so that he moves to where the other building blocks are.

They two of them sit quietly building a tower, at least it’s quiet until Charlotte loses interest and knocks down the tower squealing happily whilst she does it.

The next thing Stiles notices is the front door opening, and then his mouth drops and he might possibly drool, but he’s not totally sure.

Derek steps in the door to the , wearing a white vest that he promptly takes off and wipes his face with it, muscled torso on full display. Stiles knew he was hot but goddamn he’s perfection.

Derek turns and notices Stiles on the floor and frowns at Laura. Stiles pats Charlotte and stands up, grabbing the t-shirt.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?”

Stiles blushes and holds out the t-shirt. “I c-c-ame to g-g-give you b-back your t-shirt. Um, h-here you go!”

Derek takes the t-shirt and smiles. “Thanks Stiles, that’s really kind of you.”

Stiles smiles awkwardly and motions to go.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Derek blurts suddenly. “It’s just me, Laura and my dad eating tonight, you’re welcome to stay.”

Stiles brightens, getting to stay with super-hot senior Derek Hale for even longer?! Then his face falls.

“I’m sorry, I h-have to g-g-go home and m-make d-dinner for m-my dad.”

Derek almost seems disappointed for a second and Stiles has no idea why. Then he straightens and smiles easily at Stiles again. “That’s totally cool. How about you come over some other time?”

Stiles starts to protest but Laura pipes up from the other side of the room. “Of course! Any friend of Derek’s is welcome round!”

Stiles had no idea he was Derek’s friend to be honest. But hey, he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“That s-sounds great. I sh-should probably g-get going b-but yeah, th-thanks.”

Derek motions him to the door, and Stiles stutters out a hasty goodbye to Laura, who smiles and thanks him for looking after Charlotte, before going back to stirring the food.

Derek and Stiles walk down the corridor quietly, but it doesn’t seem awkward to Stiles like normal.

Derek opens the front door for Stiles and he steps outside, Derek holding onto the door.

“Hey.” Derek says, just as Stiles turns away to his car. “Could I get your number? So we can arrange a time for dinner that suits you?”

Could this day get any better?

“S-sure.” Stiles says quickly, taking Derek’s phone and putting in his number.

He hands it back to Derek, who smiles faintly. “Thanks, and thanks for the t-shirt. It was kind of you to wash it.”

Stiles blushes again and silently curses his pale skin.

“O-oh no p-problem. Um, s-see you a-around?”

Derek grins then, mouth stretched wide. “Definitely.”

Stiles smiles back and then turns to his car, hearing the door shut behind him. Stiles looks around to see if anyone’s nearby before punching the air in celebration. This was crazy!

He drives home elated, and that night when him and his dad are eating dinner, he gets questioned as to why he’s smiling so much. Stiles shakes his head and just smiles again, leaving the Sheriff confused, but happy that his son is happy.

That night Stiles is lying in bed when his phone lights up with an incoming text.

_Hey Stiles, it was nice to see u. got a big favour to ask- can I grab a lift off u to school tomorrow? My cars in the shop._

Stiles laughs in surprised elation and replies in the affirmative. He’ll have to get up twenty minutes earlier but that’s nothing if he gets to talk to Derek more.

_Thank u so much, lifesaver. I owe u one :)_

Stiles doesn’t need to look at the stars that night, he’s happy enough to just drop off right away, phone clutched in one hand and a smile on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is implied self harm in this chapter, and there will possibly be explicit self harm in other chapters. The tags have been updated, but y'all should know before you get triggered bc I don't want that to happen!
> 
>  
> 
> So. This was totally not meant to be like nearly two months since I last updated omfg. I was going to update last week but I got caught up when I went to a teen wolf convention and me tYLER FREAKING POSEY AND COLTON AND IAN AND JR AND SPRAYBERRY AND KEAHU AND JILL AND GAGE AND EADDY SGHFDKBJFBFBSGKJVBVK;FBSDKFJBGDSKGJBSKGJB.
> 
> Sorrry- I'm still on a high aha. Anyway, I promise the next chapter will not take so long to upload, enjoy! (pls pls pls comment/etc thank you)


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